


12 Days of Thorquill

by PoorWendy



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: 12 Days of Christmas, Ficlet Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-18 13:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16996104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoorWendy/pseuds/PoorWendy
Summary: 12 Thorquill drabbles/ficlets/works-of-however-many-words-want-to-come-out-of-me, through Christmas Day, each based off a one(ish) word, vaguely Christmas-ish prompt that I gave MYSELF. Stories themselves, with few exceptions, not-at-all Christmasish. Happy Holidays from me to me!Rating subject to hike up to explicit in future chapters. Keep an eye on it!





	1. Cold

****“Sit still,” Thor says, irritated.

Peter keeps pacing, rubbing his hands together. “It’s fucking freezing.” Which it is. Peter had enjoyed this planet for about a minute, made his share of Hoth jokes. But now he’s imagining the inside of a Tauntaun and it’s way too enticing, even if the Benatar is keeping them out of the wind and the snow, at the very least.

“I know it’s freezing,” Thor says to him. “But walking back and forth all night isn’t going to make them come back any faster.” The others have been gone for hours, and if they want to make it far enough off this backwoods ice-planet to refuel, they’ve got to save some while they wait.

Peter rolls his eyes. “You’re right, but it might help me not  _actually_ freeze to death.”

“Oh,” Thor says, sounding somewhat embarrassed, though no less annoyed. “Right.”

_“‘Oh, right,’”_  Peter echoes, taking pains to sound  _really_ stupid. “Just keep complaining and forgetting how people work,” he mutters under his breath, but loud enough that Thor can hear him.

“I—” Thor starts, like he’s going to argue, but then he shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says instead, and he doesn’t exactly  _sound_ sorry, but Peter’s still surprised and moderately appeased that Thor’s willing to say it. “Just sit down.”

“Dude,” Peter snaps, stopping long enough to stand and stare incredulously at Thor. “I’m fucking cold.”

Thor nods. “I mean,” he begins, gesturing vaguely, seemingly mulling words over in his head before he decides on, “Just come here.” He pats the floor beside him in a not-outright-inviting way. Peter tilts his head, confused. “Or just keep complaining and forgetting how gods work.”

Peter is extremely annoyed that it makes him laugh. He sighs, probably too dramatically, and concedes, making his way over to settle in beside him.

Because damn if Thor doesn’t look warm, and admittedly, a lot more enticing than a Tauntaun.


	2. Deck

It all escalates rather quickly. Like stupid quickly. Like Peter hasn’t even met Thor’s eyeline before Thor punches him. And then Peter hasn’t even stopped bleeding before Thor kisses him. **  
**

Once Thor pulls back—though he doesn’t let go of Peter’s jacket—his mouth is breathing ragged breaths and glistening with Peter’s blood.

“What the hell,” Peter mutters, not angry enough, barely even a question.

Thor licks his lips. “I’ve been wanting to do both those things for a while,” he says simply. “I knew I couldn’t kiss you without punching you first.”

All Peter wants is to dive back in, to get his mouth back on Thor’s, even though his jaw hurts and his lip is bleeding. But after hearing Thor say that, and seeing the smug look on Thor’s face (even if it’s poorly masking a pretty hungry leer), Peter’s swinging at him without even really quite meaning to.

It’s a good hit, or it should be. Square on the jaw, right from the hip. And if he’d thrown the punch at some drunk bastard in a bar, he might’ve put him right on his ass. But he threw it at a god, who barely flinches, and what’s worse,  _laughs_.

“God damn it,” Peter murmurs, pushing Thor back against the wall. Thor, at this contact, gives way willingly, lets himself be pushed, lets Peter stifle his laugh with bloody lips. And Peter bites at him, sucks at him before he pulls away.

“Helps, doesn’t it?” Thor says softly against Peter’s mouth. “To get it out of your system.”

Peter grins, even as he growls, “Shut up,” and presses up against him, realizing now that he’s wanted to do both those things for a while too.


	3. Snow

“I haven’t seen snow since I was a kid,” Peter says, even though that’s not, strictly speaking, true.

He’s seen plenty of snow; it’s not just some Terran thing. It’s a great, big galaxy. Of course there’s fucking snow out there. Hell, it hasn’t even been  _ that _ long since he saw it. The last time he can think of for sure was on Contraxia.

But seeing snow  _ here _ , back on Earth.  _ Home. _ That’s a horse of a different color entirely. It leaves him bone-cold, pink-cheeked, chap-lipped in a way that’s so easy to convince himself he hasn’t felt since before Yondu took him.

Thor smiles at him. It’s his sad sort of smile, the one that makes it a lot easier for Peter to remember how old he is. How much he’s lost. How much he misses it.

“Was there snow in Asgard?” Peter asks, although he doesn’t think so. Thor’s never mentioned it, if there was.

Thor shakes his head. “No,” he says, leaning forward, hands on the porch railing. “In Jotunheim, though.” Peter swallows. He knows about Jotunheim, but it’s rare that Thor brings it up. “Not many fond memories, really.”

It sends a pang through Peter’s chest to hear him say it so plainly. He isn’t sure what to say to it, so he stays quiet. Something he isn’t particularly good at, but he’s getting a little better, especially around Thor.

After a few long moments watching the snow fall, Thor speaks again. “It’s where he found Loki, for better or for worse,” Thor says quietly. He doesn’t specifically say that he’s talking about his father, but Peter knows. They’ve talked about all this before. “He saved him there. And he saved me, too. Saved all of us, when I nearly got us all killed. I was a fool. I know he didn’t cast me out then and there, but he may as well have. I think that’s where he decided to do it. There, in the snow.” He smiles that sad smile again and keeps staring ahead. It’s heartbreaking.

Peter puts his hand over Thor’s. “You made it back home,” he offers. Because he knows that. “He was proud of you. He told you so.”

Thor nods. “He did.” They’re quiet again. Thor shakes his head, steps behind Peter, wraps his arms around his shoulders. “Tell me something happy,” he says, tucks his lips behind Peter’s ear, breath warm enough to make his skin sting. “I’ll bet you’ve got lots of happy memories of the snow.”

“I do,” Peter admits. They didn’t always get much, and it was usually quick to melt, but that always made it more special. “The last couple winters, there was a lot of snow. That was before my mom got sick. She used to drag me away from the TV and pull me outside to play in it until we were both freezing.” Peter smiles thinking about it now. And it’s probably that sad kind of smile. He feels Thor, warm and sure behind him, seeming to soften against his back as Peter laughs and tells him all about it.


	4. Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating's been raised to Explicit. Enjoy!

They’re kidding themselves when they agree to “be cool” at Stark’s party. Whatever’s been going on between them, it’s too early, too barely-formed to explain to the mess of Avengers who’ll be there, much less to try and comprehend on their own. They both figure it’ll be easier with such a distinct lack of privacy, with so many people to catch up with. Thor’s been to Tony’s parties before and he fills Peter in on the long and short of them, and it seems likely enough that they could pretty much avoid each other for the whole night, if they wanted to. 

(Nevermind the fact that they have that particular conversation while Thor’s on Peter’s lap, and that they can’t even get through it without Peter putting his hand into Thor’s pants, jerking him off and sucking on his neck, all while Thor makes half-hearted attempts to keep talking.)

They last longer than you’d think, at least. It’s hours into the party, it’s after dinner and so many drinks, it’s after the fashionably late have finished trickling in—after even the unfashionably late have finally showed up. There’s loud music and louder conversation, and Peter and Thor were both perfectly pleasant, were downright  _good company_  to everybody but each other for all that time.

And it’s Thor’s fault, really, for wandering over when Peter was talking with Sam and Steve, and clapping his massive, warm hand down on Peter’s shoulder. As if Peter can possibly be held responsible for his actions after something like that. It’s honestly all Thor’s fault, the way he excused himself politely just a few minutes later and squeezed Peter’s shoulder. Thor’s fault.

And Peter thinks, technically speaking, he didn’t  _exactly_  break the rules. He thinks he was relatively “cool” when he waited a while (a couple minutes... definitely at least a whole minute) before excusing himself just as politely and casually wandering off in the same direction Thor had gone.

By the time he’s found him, he’s abandoning caring at all, because Thor’s pulling him into an empty bedroom, rasping out, “C’mere,” and locking the door behind them. And then he’s putting Peter up against that door, ignoring the immaculate California king bed. Not that Peter’s complaining, because he’s pretty keyed up, and up-against-the-door seems like the absolutely perfect means of breaking the rules they set.

(Peter wonders, absently, whether this was the inevitable conclusion all along, whether they only even made these rules so they could break them.)

“So much for  _being cool,”_  Peter says as Thor kisses down his neck, happy to pawn their failure off on him.

“Can’t blame me,” Thor mutters wet against Peter’s neck, “when you wore a sweater so tight.” He runs his hands up over Peter’s belly, his pecs, thumbs at Peter’s nipple through the knitting.

Peter’s breath hitches. “I always wear my shirts tight,” he points out.

“Mm-hmm,” Thor hums, kisses Peter’s jaw, pushes a hand up underneath Peter’s sweater. “And you wonder why I can’t ever keep my hands off of you.”

He pulls away enough to smile at Peter, some dark grin full of mischief and want, and then he leans forward to kiss him, lips pressing clumsy and too hard as his hands rush down to Peter’s fly, hastily getting it open. Peter sighs into the kiss, and then Thor’s mouth is kissing down his neck again, and Thor’s pulling at the v-neck of his sweater, stretching it to plant kisses on Peter’s collarbone. And then Thor’s falling to his knees, and pulling Peter’s cock out, and Peter’s really grateful that the party’s still roaring on down the hall, because he’s still sighing. Actually, sighing might be an understatement.

Thor’s used to Peter’s sounds by now, and while he probably appreciates them (he’s expressed as much many times), one of his hands wanders up Peter’s chest and he slips two fingers into Peter’s mouth just as he wraps his lips around Peter’s cock.

Peter moans around Thor’s fingers, sucks on them gratefully as Thor starts swallowing him down without ceremony. Peter figures if Thor isn’t going to play fair, he doesn’t have to either, and he threads his fingers into Thor’s hair and holds on tight. Probably a little too tight. Thor hisses around his cock and fights Peter’s grip for a moment before he gives into it, lets Peter pull him back and forth or hold him still at will.

Soon, Thor’s fingers fall out of Peter’s mouth, and Peter looks down to watch as Thor rushes to open his own fly, slips a hand into his pants, starts rubbing himself. “God, you feel good,” Peter says, mouth suddenly free, as he holds Thor’s head still and fucks into his mouth. “And you look good,” Peter goes on, watches the grateful little changes in Thor’s expression at hearing the praise. “So good tonight. Look too good to be taking care of yourself like that.” Thor makes a lovely, desperate sound as Peter thrusts deeper into his mouth, cock nudging into his throat. The feeling makes Peter’s eyes roll back. “Stark’s gotta have something around here,” he says, opening his eyes, scanning the room and wondering if there might be actual lube stashed away someplace, which he really hopes against hope there is, because he’s definitely worked up enough to try and get creative.

Thor pulls his hand out of his pants, reaches inside his coat and comes away with a packet of lube.

Peter bites his lip, smiles down at Thor, rubs his thumbs over Thor’s cheekbones. “Never stood a chance, did I?” he asks, and lets go of Thor’s head.

Thor lets Peter’s cock fall out of his mouth and gasps. “Just in case,” he says, innocently, voice hoarse.

“Get up here,” Peter says, pulling Thor by the lapels of his coat up so he can shove his tongue in his mouth. They kiss ruthlessly, grabbing at each other, tearing at each other’s lips until Peter pushes Thor backward. “Bend over for me,” Peter tells him, nodding over toward the dresser, ignoring the bed once again. Thor grins and shrugs out of his coat, throwing it on the floor.

“Gonna fuck me?” Thor asks, raising a challenging eyebrow as he stands beside the dresser and pushes his pants and underwear down his thighs.

Peter licks his lips. “Eventually,” he answers before he gets to his knees behind Thor. He doesn’t waste time. Whatever his mouth is saying, he’s just as eager as Thor. He spreads Thor’s cheeks and licks a hot stripe over his hole, and Thor leans forward, bracing himself against the dresser.

“Better not— _oh,”_  Thor moans when Peter licks him again, already probing with the blunt tip of his tongue. “Better not make me wait too long,” he says. “They’ll start to wonder.”

Peter laughs against Thor’s ass. “I don’t fucking care,” he says, still pretending he’s got the patience or the strength to tease Thor. It’s all that’s said for a while as Peter works his tongue inside, kneading into Thor’s cheeks with his hands, keeping him spread wide.

“C’mon,” Thor begs eventually. Peter doesn’t have it in him to wait. He rips the packet open with his teeth and coats two fingers with lube, slips them inside. Thor groans, pushes back against Peter’s hand, and between the two of them they pick up a pace quickly.

Peter pushes up the hem of Thor’s shirt and presses his lips along the small of Thor’s back. “Feel good?”

“Yeah,” Thor answers, reaching back to try and get a hand on Peter. Peter rubs his face into the palm of Thor’s hand. “Put another one in me.”

Peter nods, fits another finger inside, and Thor’s getting louder. Maybe a little too loud. “Gonna hear you,” Peter warns. He can hear the sounds get muffled as Thor bites down on his own lip. Peter just keeps working him open. “Think you’re ready?”

“Yes,” Thor answers, practically before Peter’s even finished the question.

Peter gets to his feet, slicks himself up, lines up with Thor’s entrance and pushes inside. Thor moans, nods frantically. “Yeah?” Peter asks.

“Yeah,” Thor answers, reaches behind him to grab at Peter’s hip and Peter starts thrusting in earnest.

Peter grabs Thor by the hair again, a little gentler this time, and pulls his head aside so he can rake his teeth along Thor’s neck. “Fuck,” Peter sighs.  _“Fuck,_  I’m not gonna last long.”

“It’s okay,” Thor pants out, pulls Peter’s hand out of his hair and tugs it down to his own cock. Peter nods against the back of Thor’s neck, starts stroking him in time with the rhythm of his hips. “How close?” Thor asks through staggered breaths. “Can we move to the bed?”

Peter nods some more, makes himself still his hips. “Yeah,” he mutters, pressing his lips to Thor’s skin. He pulls out of Thor, and Thor whines about it. “I know, I know,” Peter says, pets the back of Thor’s head. “Come on.” Peter clumsily gets out of his shoes and kicks his pants the rest of the way off. Thor does the same.

“Take your sweater off,” Thor tells him, though he doesn’t make it easy, pushing Peter backward onto the bed. Still, Peter does as he’s told, throwing his sweater on the floor and watching in awe as Thor gets rid of his shirt as well. Thor grabs the packet of lube off the dresser and squeezes the rest of it into his hand, gives Peter a few long, slow strokes before climbing on top of him. “Ready?” he asks. Peter nods and takes hold of Thor’s hips. Thor sinks down on Peter’s cock again, quickly, more quickly than Peter was expecting. It pulls a high, desperate sound from his chest.

“Fuck,” Peter spits again. “It’s good, it’s good,” he chants, and looks up desperately into Thor’s mismatched eyes. “I’m gonna come soon,  _fuck,_  I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Thor nods, rocks himself on Peter’s cock, takes himself in hand and starts jerking himself off. “It’s okay,” he says, soothing, encouraging. “Go ahead.”

“Wanna hold out,” Peter babbles on, digging his fingernails into Thor’s hips. “Want it to be good for you.”

“It’s good,” Thor says, and leans down, bracing himself with one hand beside Peter’s head, his other hand still stroking himself. “It’s good, Peter,” he says, speaking against Peter’s lips this time. “It’s always good.”

“Jesus,” Peter says, blinks tears out of the corners of his eyes.

Thor doesn’t let up, just rides Peter that much harder, moves to speak into Peter’s ear. “You’re so good, Peter. Every time.  _Always,”_  Thor goes on and on, chants in time with his hips. “Always, always,  _always.”_

“Oh,” Peter sighs, trying so hard not to let go, trying to just last a little longer, just a little longer for Thor.

“Go ahead,” Thor tells him, and it’s hopeless, Peter’s done-for. Thor kisses him hard, mutters, “Come. Come for me.” He moves his lips over to Peter’s ear again, and whispers,  _“Come in me, Peter.”_

 _“Fuck,”_  Peter hisses, hips jolting, come spilling inside Thor.

His heart is racing as Thor kisses him again, as Thor’s fist works furiously at his own cock. He lets Thor keep riding him, working every drop out of him, and he almost can’t take it anymore when Thor calls out and spills over his hand, across Peter’s chest.

A long moment later, Thor collapses on top of Peter, running his hands over every inch of him he can reach. “Amazing,” he mutters, and Peter holds him close.

Peter might be imagining it, but he thinks he hears footsteps close by outside the door.

He kisses Thor’s temple.

So much for being cool.


	5. Candles

They’re having a pretty nice time, all things considered. Peter and Thor walked a few blocks until they found a bodega that was open-and-operating enough to sell them a mess of prayer candles, and now the apartment is glowing with soft light, adorned with more patron saints than Peter knew there were. Drax and Mantis are laughing outside on the balcony, making ridiculous conversation with anybody wandering around outside, most of them complaining about the neighborhood’s current state. Groot’s huddled beside a few candles, draining the batteries in his Gameboy. Rocket has forgiven Peter and Thor enough to sit and play a few hands of Texas hold ‘em with them. Although it helps that Thor is really, really terrible at hold ‘em.

Then, Peter’s phone is buzzing. Which is pretty rare. He swallows when he sees that it’s Stark.

“Hello?” he answers hesitantly. Groot’s already snickering. Thor’s looking downright ashamed.

_ “What’s going on in my building, Quill?”  _ Stark asks.

Peter laughs nervously. “Pretty quiet right now, actually,” he says.

_ “Oh, I should have been more specific,”  _ Tony goes on, barely masking frustration.  _ “Why is the power out in my building?” _

“I have to imagine a fuse got blown or something,” Peter answers, skirting the issue. “I mean, damn, you’re the genius, not me!”

_ “Cut to the chase, would you, Quill? What did you do?” _

“Well,  _ technically,”  _ he starts, casting round, apologetic eyes toward Thor, “it wasn’t what  _ I  _ did.”

Thor narrows his eyes threateningly. It’s hard to tell in the candlelight, but he might also go red.

“Sounded to me like you had a little something to do with it,” Rocket points out.

“ _ I am Groot,”  _ Groot giggles in agreement.

Tony sighs, exasperated.  _ “This is my headboard all over again, isn’t it?” _

“Hey,” Peter argues. “You  _ love _ that headboard.”

Tony grumbles a vague concession to that.  _ “Your thunder sex is getting expensive. I shouldn’t have to be finding ways to ground a bed on the second floor of my Brownstone. Those plans shouldn’t be in my lab, Quill.” _

“Actually,” Peter begins, about to argue that it wasn’t the bed that needed grounding this time, but Thor shoots him a warning glare, and he keeps it to himself. “No, you’re right,” he says instead.  _ “We _ will be more careful next time,” he adds, staring pointedly at Thor, who cracks a little smile.

Later, when they’ve got some time alone again, “So maybe we don’t fuck on the desk anymore.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “So maybe, next time you go off when I’m fucking you, you grab something besides the lamp.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this little ficlet actually takes place in the same universe as my long Thorquill fic, which I've been working on for a thousand years. It's not finished and I haven't posted any of it yet, but, you know. Someday you'll get to read the "headboard" story.


	6. Bow

Peter ought to be expecting it, really, as he makes his way into his bedroom. Maybe if he wasn’t so exhausted from the job—which included more fighting than stealing—their last conversation would be more presently on his mind.

He and the guardians were due to leave the following morning, so he had Thor tangled up in his bedsheets late into the night, trailing his lips all over Thor’s body, teasing just as much as he pleased. And Thor was complaining, and Peter was telling him, _“You’ll miss this when you’re lonely here without me.”_

 _“Won’t be lonely here without you,”_  Thor had pointed out breathlessly.  _“I’ll be up at the facility.”_

At that, Peter had looked up at him.  _“Really?”_ he asked, uncertain as to why that objectively insignificant news rustled up some amount of disappointment in him.

 _“Problem?”_  Thor had asked, and Peter had shaken his head, and Thor had looked down to meet his gaze, seeing through him.  _“What, wanted me here waiting for you?”_

Peter had cracked a smile, even if he also tightened his grip on Thor’s thighs.  _“Of course,”_  he’d said, trying to make it a joke, instead of feeling like he’d be traveling even farther somehow, now that he knew Thor wouldn’t be home.  _“Want you all to myself, always,”_  he’d said, kissing Thor’s hipbone. _“Want you waiting here just for me,”_  he dragged his lips down and nosed at the crease of Thor’s groin,  _“wrapped up with a pretty little bow.”_

Thor had laughed, a deep rumbling in his chest that grew darker when Peter finally licked a stripe up the side of his cock. They hadn’t talked much more that night, and Peter had left so early the next morning.

Now, as he hauls his lazy bones down the hall to his bedroom four days later, he’s only thinking of how tired he is, how good the air feels in his lungs. But he ought to be expecting it.

Thor isn’t stupid. He’s not even very oblivious to colloquialisms and slang, moreso since they’ve settled down on Earth, more or less, for good. But he takes such joy in being obtuse. Especially around Peter.

He ought to be expecting it, when he walks in and sees Thor lying in his bed, in a pretty little bow. The pretty little bow rests not far from where Peter had been planting kisses on Thor when he’d made the comment, on a pair of lacy little briefs that Peter likes far too well.

“I know that you knew I didn’t mean that literally,” is the first thing he thinks to say, smirking.

“I knew,” Thor confirms, stretches out invitingly. “But I also knew it would get you all worked up anyway.”

Peter drops his bag. “You’ve really got my number,” he says, and climbs on top of him.


	7. Stars

“This is bullshit,” Peter says.

“Stark said you can’t see the stars from the city,” Thor points out.

Peter frowns. “I shouldn’t have to haul my ass up to the damn facility just to see the stars.”

Thor laughs at him, pulls him a little closer. “Would have thought you’d gotten your fill of stars by now.”

Peter sighs, shakes his head. “Never.”

They’re quiet for a little bit, while Peter makes an effort to stop pouting.

“It’s funny,” Peter says, eventually. “They seemed so far away when I was a kid. I somehow had this idea that going to space would be like going to the stars.” Thor squeezes his shoulder. “But then I went to space, and I never felt any closer to them.”

He feels Thor press a kiss to his temple.

“I should have been there,” Peter says after too many quiet moments. He doesn’t say where, but it hangs unspoken between them.  _Nidavellir_. There are so many bigger regrets hanging heavy in his heart about not going with Thor, back before…  _everything_. He doesn’t like to think about them. He knows it won’t change anything, to sit and regret and ache (though it  _does_ ache). So he sometimes lets himself dwell on the simplest, yearning truth. “I wish I could have seen it.”

He lets his head fall against Thor’s shoulder, and his eyes well as he focuses on the few, blurry pinpricks he can make out in the sky over Manhattan.


	8. Toys

Peter’s never been particularly interested in toys.

Maybe by himself, on the rare occasion, but never with other people. He’d have thought Thor would be no exception. After all, he’s plenty satisfied by Thor’s cock when he’s on the receiving end, and when he’s not… Well, he’s happiest filling Thor with his own parts. Parts he’s personally very fond of.

But if Peter was a little disappointed the first time Thor expressed his desire to be filled by something besides, well, _Peter,_  the feeling didn’t last all that long. The feeling lasted exactly as long as it took for Thor to seat himself on a big, purple plug. And while he seated himself, Peter watched his face carefully. He watched his brows raise and knit. He watched him chew his lip and open his mouth in turn, groaning and panting. He watched his cheeks flush and watched sweat start to bead on his forehead. And he watched as Thor’s eyes snapped open, suddenly sitting flat against the bed again, and then he couldn’t watch anymore because Thor was closing in on him all at once with a bruising kiss.

Peter barely managed to keep his composure as Thor trailed his lips all down his body, swallowed him down like he was starved for it, kept arching and rocking, moaning around Peter’s cock at the pressure inside him. Peter had made him stop, just so he could put Thor flat on his back, just so he could get his mouth around him and make him writhe and squirm even more. Thor had tangled impatient, desperate fingers into Peter’s hair, called out louder than Peter had ever heard him, and Peter couldn’t get enough of it, of sucking Thor's cock and being able to let his hands roam free along every inch of Thor he could possibly reach, all while Thor was stuffed full and tight.

He’d come down Peter’s throat, and then he’d let Peter fuck him, already stretched wide open for his cock. Peter was lucky to last long enough to get Thor off again as he spilled deep inside him, lips pressed against his shoulder blade, silently swearing to himself to never question Thor’s desire to use toys again.


	9. List

Thor runs his fingertips over Peter’s collarbone. “Kree?” he asks, though it’s just a formality. He remembers.

_ “Mm-hmm,”  _ Peter hums in response, breath shallow.

Thor kisses the scar there, kisses across Peter’s chest and down to his ribcage, to the next scar. The next one of  _ these _ scars. “Rajak?”

“Rajak,” Peter sighs in response. “You know them,” he says, though he isn’t complaining.

Thor laughs against his skin. “I know them,” he agrees. He lets a hand wander back up Peter’s chest, fingertips brushing under his left ear to the little pin-prick scars most people don’t notice. “The A’askavariian.”

Peter shivers, either at Thor’s touch or the memory. He’s calm and pliant as Thor trails hands and mouth over his body, both of them still lazy in the aftermath of making each other come. The way Peter shares himself so freely, lets Thor explore and catalog every part of his body, sends waves of warmth washing through Thor’s chest.

His thumb still brushes along the scar on his neck while his other hand slides down to the one on his right hip. “Xandarian,” Thor says, glances up to see Peter nod.

“Yeah,” Peter says, stifling a yawn, threading his fingers into Thor’s hair and rubbing sweet little circles into his scalp.

Thor  _ tsks _ against Peter’s belly. “Did you ever sleep with anybody without inciting them to violence against you?”

Peter laughs. It’s a light, sweet, sleepy sound that makes Thor’s gut twist gratefully. “To be fair,” Peter offers, “the A’askavariian wasn’t trying to hurt me when she gave me that.” Thor feels a fleeting flare of possessiveness, so foolish he laughs at himself a moment later. “Plus,” Peter goes on, voice thick and tired but affectionate, “I haven’t pissed you off enough yet.”

Thor smiles, presses his cheek, his lips to the palm of Peter’s hand when he offers it. “That’s true,” he agrees. “I stopped wanting to kick your ass before you fucked me.”

Peter laughs. “C’mere,” he says, tugging gently at Thor’s hair. Thor climbs back up and settles in beside him, draping an arm and a leg over Peter’s body as Peter pulls him close. “I like you,” he says, half-asleep, and it makes something crack and melt behind Thor’s ribs.

“I like you too,” Thor says simply, somehow wide awake, the intimacy setting his mind alight even with his muscles so lax and heavy. He puts his lips to Peter’s neck, content to lie blissfully beside him for as long as Peter cares to sleep. “Very much.”


	10. Carol

It’s adorable, and it’s hilarious, and it’s humbling. Thor’s  _ jealous. _

“I’m not  _ jealous,”  _ Thor protests later, when they’re alone, and Peter suggests as much. “I was just pointing out that everybody seems to like her.” His tone is positive. Too positive. That’s the thing about Thor. He doesn’t  _ want  _ to be jealous. That’s its own brand of infuriating, really. Peter’s learned to deal with those infuriating things. You have to find some way to deal with Thor’s whole honorable-boy-scout-demi-god thing. Sleeping with that demi-god helps. 

“Of course,” Peter says, willing to try and humor him. “I mean, what’s not to like? She’s smart, and funny.” Thor nods as he starts getting undressed. “Tony says she can move  _ planets _ . Which, damn.” Thor nods some more.

“Yes, she’s very strong,” he says.

“I mean,” Peter goes on, “that’s gotta be tough. Probably harder than kick-starting a dying star.” Thor looks up and thins his eyes. “Must make her, y’know,” Peter trails off, waving a hand as if Thor should be able to finish the thought himself. “Stronger than you,” Peter explains needlessly when Thor doesn’t.

“You’re really enjoying this,” Thor says.

“A little,” Peter says, stripping off his own shirt. “Nice to see you knocked down a peg.”

“It’s not like I’ve never come up against somebody stronger than me,” Thor says.

“I know,” Peter agrees. He sidles up close to Thor and runs his hands along Thor’s massive biceps. “But she’s pretty much tops,” he says.

Thor rolls his eyes, nods some more. “You’re kind of a bastard.”

Peter laughs at that. “Yeah. It’s okay. I was jealous of you,” he says, softening a little. He kisses Thor.

“You were very obviously jealous of me,” Thor agrees.

“Yeah, well,” Peter says, kisses Thor again, runs a hand down Thor’s chest, down his belly, down to cup him through his jeans. “I found a way to cope.”

Thor hums and lets Peter kiss him a little deeper. “You certainly did,” he says after he pulls away. “Maybe I should give your methods a shot.”

Peter bites his lip.  _ “You’re  _ a bastard,” he says, and Thor laughs delightedly as Peter shoves him backward onto the bed.


	11. Silent Night

It’s hot and infuriating all at once. Peter’s not sure whose idea it was in the first place. He probably shouldn’t be surprised anymore at how much it turns him on—giving himself up to Thor in just about every conceivable way. Peter isn’t sure if it’s the acts themselves that drive Thor so crazy or if it’s just some unfettered chain reaction between them, of one being turned on by the other being turned on, back and forth, amplified, like a mirror in a mirror. What Peter does know is that something just catches between them, ignites, burns up and out of control when they have sex, no matter who’s got the reins.

The more control Peter gives up, the hotter it seems to get, which flies so starkly in the face of all the inadequacy and insecurity he felt when he first met Thor, this person he’s now let tie him up. Fill him up.

Shut him up.

It’s not easy to shut Peter up. Even when he’s going down on Thor, when Thor’s fucking his mouth, his  _ throat _ . Even when Peter’s got Thor spread wide and sitting on his face, his mouth finds ways to free itself, to offer praise or beg for more,  _ more _ .

And Thor—Thor  _ loves _ it. He loves to pull big, loud, weak, humiliating noises out of Peter, loves to hear him spew filth, and anything that Thor gets off on, Peter gets off on, so every time Thor fucks him, he gets louder, gets feral, lets every dark, wanton, greedy thought claw its way out of him through his lips.

Maybe it’s just that Thor’s not used to such a vocal partner, one with such a dirty mouth, although even Peter’s surprised by what he’s willing to say, things that make him go red after the fact. Begging, cloying things about Thor’s cock and his ass and horrifying spiels of  _ fuck-me use-me ruin-me _ , and sometimes, if he’s loud enough, explicit enough,  _ animal  _ enough, he swears it’s his voice that makes Thor come in its own right, more than thrusting into Peter does.

Something that surprises him as much as what he lets himself say, though, is how well Thor can keep up when Peter lets him get a word in edgewise.

For however regal and proper he’d understood Thor’s upbringing to be, he’s got a hell of a propensity for talking Peter off when he has a mind to.

It was a pretty spur of the moment idea. Thor had mentioned it once or twice before while they’d been fucking, but they’d never made any sober moves toward pursuing it. If they had, they might have gone out and found themselves a proper gag, although there’s something supremely hot about the way it turned out, Thor tearing up Peter’s pillowcase, cording it up.

Peter had been able to fire off a few choice phrases before Thor had cut right to the chase and said it: “Is tonight the night, then? You want me to shut you up?” And Peter had agreed enthusiastically.

“Do it,” he said, bratty and challenging. Thor already had him worked up and he’d been giving back, pushing, grappling at every turn. Weakening Thor’s dominant resolve with too much praise and filth.

“You sure about this?” Thor asks now as he approaches Peter with the thick band of fabric.

Peter nods. “Are  _ you?  _ After all, you won’t be able to put your cock in my mouth,” he points out, watching carefully for Thor’s reaction, which, while subtle, doesn’t disappoint — he licks his lips, his grip on the tattered pillowcase tightening. “I won’t be able to eat you out,” Peter goes on, and doesn’t think he imagines how Thor’s cock twitches, stiff inside his jeans. “Won’t be able to stick my tongue inside you and tell you how good you taste.”

Thor growls, low and dark. He doesn’t answer Peter. He doesn’t move to gag him yet, either. So Peter figures he should get his shots in while he can.

“I won’t be able to say how good you feel in my ass, or around my cock,” he says, straightening himself so he can kneel upright on the bed and speak against Thor’s lips. “Won’t be able to beg for your cock or for you to fuck me harder.”

Thor smirks at that, a cocky look in his eyes that let Peter know, even before he speaks, that he’s got no cards left to play. “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Thor says, runs a rough hand through Peter’s hair. “You’ll still beg me,” he tells him, pulls his hair and tilts his head back. Peter swallows. “You don’t have to talk to do it. It’ll be in your eyes. I’ll hear it in any sound you do manage to make.” He bites Peter’s bottom lip, sucks too roughly on it. Peter’s eyes flit shut as he moans, and Thor finally lets his lip go, only to pull his head roughly aside and speak right against his ear. “And who says I’m even going to touch your cock?”

_ “Fuck,” _ Peter hisses, and Thor lets go of his hair, pushes him backward on the bed.

“So,” Thor says, running his hand up the inside of Peter’s thigh with one hand, while the other swings the strip of pillowcase before his eyes. “Are you ready?”

Peter nods, cock bobbing at the feel of Thor’s hand so close, the sound of Thor’s words echoing in his ears. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Thor grins. “Oh, I think this is going to be a lot of fun.”

Peter’s practically whimpering as Thor winds up the fabric tight. He opens up willingly as Thor fits it inside his mouth and ties it in a knot at the back of his head.

“How’s that?” Thor asks, casual as anything.

_ Good,  _ Peter tries to answer, unthinkingly. He can’t. The muffled sound that he makes has Thor grinning more as he reaches to put a gentle finger under Peter’s chin.

He tilts his face up slightly, leans in. “Is it good? Nice and tight?”

Peter closes his eyes, goosebumps rippling down his arms. He nods.

“Wonderful,” Thor says, takes his finger from under Peter’s chin and trails it down his chest. “I have to say, I like the look of you right now. Can’t believe I never thought to do this when I tied you up.” Peter blinks up at him, leans into his touch, his fingers now brushing at Peter’s belly. “Been a while since I tied you up, really,” Thor says, flattens his palm against Peter’s skin, slides it over to rest on his waist. “Should I do that now?”

_ If you want,  _ Peter tries to say. Thor chuckles.

“Maybe next time,” he decides for himself. “Plus, I think you’ll let me pick you up and arrange you however I like.” Thor leans in, breathes against Peter’s ear. “Bet you’ll let me do whatever I please with you.” Peter’s back arches, his cock leaking between them. “Won’t you?”

Peter sighs, breathing hard through his nose, and nods.

“Good,” Thor says, brings a hand up behind Peter’s head and pets his hair. “That’s good.” Thor kisses underneath his ear, ghosts his lips down Peter’s neck, fingertips tracing so lightly along his ribs that Peter’s wriggling into the touch. “You’re eager,” Thor observes needlessly. Peter nods, hums an affirmation, and Thor runs his tongue along his collarbone. “What is it you’re so eager for?” he asks, and Peter sighs. Thor pulls back so he can look in Peter’s eyes. “What do you want me to do to you?”

Peter pleads with his eyes. He should have known Thor would do this, would tease him, would make the absolute most of this. He  _ did _ know. He didn’t realize how quickly he’d bend to it.

Thor sighs, like Peter’s making some choice not to answer. “I guess I’ll just have to decide for myself.” Peter pushes forward, tries to press his lips to Thor’s, gnash his teeth against Thor’s jaw. Thor just laughs, low and smug. “Turn over,” he says. “Get on your hands and knees.”

_ Make me,  _ Peter says, doing his best to challenge Thor with his eyes, his tone. Even though Thor didn’t tie him up, he realizes he’s kept his hands dutifully at his sides, so he decides to use them. He tucks the fingers of one hand into the waistband of Thor’s jeans and tugs hard. His other hand fists into the front of Thor’s shirt.

“Should have guessed you’d still be trouble,” Thor says, and grabs Peter’s wrists in his hands. He doesn’t have to be very forceful, because it’s what Peter wanted, and the sound he makes is weak as he lets Thor twist him around and bend him over. “That’s better, isn’t it?” Peter hums out  _ yes _ . “Where to start,” Thor muses, runs a hand up and down Peter’s spine, pulls the other up the inside of Peter’s thigh, drags a finger along the crease of his groin, barely brushing his balls. “Any preference?” he asks, and Peter growls at him. Thor laughs. He pinches the meat of Peter’s thigh. “No? What about all those things you wouldn’t be able to beg me for?”

_ Fuck you,  _ Peter mutters, and Thor laughs some more.

“That, I think I understood. We can play rough, if that’s what you want,” he says, and a moment later, Peter feels Thor’s hand come down on his ass. It’s not terribly hard, but enough to sting, and the suddenness of it makes him tense and call out. “You always get mouthy when we do.” Thor squeezes Peter’s ass, nearly too hard. “Might be a good challenge for you.”

Peter drops to his elbows, arches his back, pushes his ass back against Thor’s hand, groaning helplessly.

Thor grabs him by the hips again, pulls him back against his own groin, the denim rough against Peter’s skin. “That what you want?”

Peter nods.  _ Yes,  _ he whines uselessly.

Rough is good. It’s  _ really  _ good. To begin with, Thor is insanely hot when he gets rough. All grunting and pushing and pulling, swearing and tossing Peter around like a ragdoll. More than that, though, Thor gets  _ carried away _ when he gets rough. Part of it is Peter’s begging, keening,  _ shouting _ . But even without that, Peter knows it’ll turn Thor on so much that he’ll end up throwing himself into Peter with reckless abandon. When Thor does things soft, and slow, and  _ sweet? That’s  _ when Peter has to worry. That’s torture; dragging it out, teasing and toying with Peter until he’s aching and broken, reducing him to such a desperate, wanton thing. If Thor plays it slow and sweet tonight, Peter might not come for ages. And he definitely can’t wait that fucking long.

He’s still caught off guard when he feels Thor’s mouth press suddenly against his ass. He doesn’t have the time to do anything more but cry out—the gag muffling the sound into something unexpectedly filthy—before Thor’s probing with his tongue, like he’s rushing to open Peter up.

_ Fuck,  _ Peter tries to swear, over and over as Thor groans, devouring him. Peter’s cock is throbbing, and he’s wondering desperately whether Thor meant it before when he threatened not to touch it. Thor pulls away, gasping, and licks a long, flat stripe up Peter’s crack, over his hole. Peter can’t help rocking his hips back and forth, thrusting his cock into the empty air.

For all that he said he’d be rough, Thor takes his time, licking, and sucking, and  _ slurping  _ at Peter’s hole until Peter’s loose and ready for more, all the while making beautiful, muted noises against Peter’s ass like he can’t possibly get enough of it, like he can’t manage to work slowly or quickly enough. He drives his tongue in and out of Peter so deep that Peter thinks it must be painful for him, must be stretching his mouth in brutal ways, but Thor keeps at it, keeps going until Peter starts babbling and begging, every word— _ fuck-baby-please-please-please _ —muffled and unintelligible.

And then Thor pulls away all at once, heaving these labored breaths, and maybe it's the absence of Peter’s usual spieling that makes Thor utter a litany of filth with each breath.  _ “Fuck,”  _ he swears at once, and it’s sharper than usual, and it makes Peter writhe. “Fuck, your ass feels good. So sweet, wiggling around, opening up so wide for me.”

Peter moans, high and weak, around the gag. It’s as if he can  _ feel _ the words as well as hear them, the praise sliding sweetly along his spine. He waits to hear the familiar sound of Thor opening the bedside table drawer, rustling around to find the lube. He waits to feel Thor’s fingertips slick and playing at his hole, waits to feel them push inside. It doesn’t happen.

A moment later, Thor’s standing beside him, next to the bed. “Sit up,” he says, and Peter whines as he complies, moving to sit up on the edge of the bed, level with Thor’s groin.

Thor’s still fully dressed, which always makes Peter hot, to be stripped bare and worked into a frenzy while Thor’s still outwardly composed and clothed. The outline of his cock is plain as it presses hard against his jeans, and Peter looks longingly.

Thor takes a rough hold on his face with one hand, fingers gripping his jaw, thumb sliding across his bottom lip. “You had a point,” he says, and Peter stares up into his eyes. “It’s a shame I can’t put my cock in your mouth.” Peter swallows. “Wish you could taste it, don’t you?” Peter nods, tests Thor’s hold on him by leaning forward. Thor lets go of his face, getting a loose grip on his hair instead, but letting Peter take the lead for the moment.

Peter does wish he could taste Thor’s cock. If his mouth was free right now, he’d make a big show of mouthing at it. That always gets him going. Instead, he just leans all the way forward, presses his cheek against Thor’s erection, rubs his face against Thor’s lap, moaning softly around his gag.

“God,” Thor breathes. “You’re so good for me.”

_ Mm-hmm,  _ Peter hums out, nods with his cheek still flush against Thor’s cock, warm even through his jeans.

“Take it out,” Thor tells him, and Peter’s hands rush up to unbutton and unzip Thor’s jeans. He thinks about tugging Thor’s jeans and underwear down, but instead, he pulls Thor’s cock out through his fly, and he notes the sweet little breath Thor sucks in, surprised by the choice. He flashes mischievous eyes up at him and, before he thinks what he’s doing, he leans out to try and lick him. Thor’s eyes soften, big around round, an expression on his face half mournful and half sympathetic. “Poor thing,” he says, and his heart’s nearly in it. He holds Peter’s hair a little tighter and takes his cock in his own hand, stroking himself, peeling back his foreskin tantalizingly in front of Peter’s face.

Peter stares, trying to cope with his inability to lick his lips or try to taste Thor. Instead he brings his fingertips up and swipes one over the precome gathering at the head of Thor’s cock.

“Oh, Peter,” Thor says, looking down on him with pity. “Lie down.”

Thor lets go of his hair and pushes him down onto to the bed with one hand against his chest. Peter notices that Thor doesn’t stop stroking himself. He’s going faster, actually, biting his lip, jerking himself off, eyes dark under heavy eyelids, not taking them off Peter for a moment as he finally makes his way to the bedside table. Peter writhes on the bed, keening, rubbing his hands over his own body. His cock is hard and red, curved upward, drooling onto his own belly, and even though he knows Thor won’t let them get there, he starts sliding his hands down his own chest toward it.

_ “Mm-mm,”  _ Thor hums, shakes his head. “No.”

Peter holds his gaze as he keeps reaching. Thor drops the bottle of lube on the bed, lets go of his own cock.

_ “No,”  _ Thor growls, and catches him by the wrist. Thor is big, he’s hulking, but he climbs on top of Peter deftly and quickly. He straddles Peter’s chest, knees on either side of him, and pins Peter’s hands to the bed above his head. “You’re trouble,” he says, and he gathers Peter’s wrists in one hand so he can start jerking himself off again with the other.

Peter moans and bucks beneath him, desperate,  _ wanting _ , Thor fucking his own fist just inches from Peter’s face. He knows exactly what Thor’s got in mind. He’s going to come. He probably thinks that means he’ll be able to take his time fucking Peter, but Peter knows better than that. He’ll never get over the way Thor can come over and over again.

“Where do you want it?” Thor asks him, voice full of gravel, breath staggered. “Like this? On your face?”

_ Anywhere, _ Peter tries to answer, the resulting muffled moan loud and greedy and broken in his ears.  _ Wherever you want _ .

Thor tries to grin, though Peter can tell it’s hard with him getting so close. He doesn’t let go of Peter’s wrists, but pushes himself backward, scoots down his body so he’s jerking off over Peter’s chest instead. “Like this,” he says, deciding.

Peter nods and whines and pulls at Thor’s grip just so he’ll tighten it. He does.

_ “Oh,”  _ Thor whimpers, and Peter watches, mesmerized, as his hips stutter and he spills over Peter’s chest.

_ Fuck,  _ Peter cries out, jerking his own hips up, trying to rub his cock against Thor’s ass, but it’s no use, he’s not close enough.

All at once, Thor lets go of him, gets off of him, bends over and grabs Peter’s pec with one hand, bites hard at his other nipple with the other. “Be good,” he says. “Stay good.”

Peter nods frantically as Thor opens up the lube and coats his fingers. He already seems in a hurry. Peter’s terribly relieved to know he was right; Thor’s not going to slow down a bit, whatever he may have been hoping for. He pries Peter’s thighs wide apart and slides two fingers into him with little warning, sighing contentedly as he does.

Peter  _ sobs _ . His cock is still aching, but Thor doesn’t waste much time as he starts pushing in and out of him, and it can’t be more than a minute before he’s prodding at Peter’s prostate, all the while babbling praise and filth, telling him how good he is, how tight his hole is, how he can’t wait to stuff him with his cock.

And Peter’s whining back, begging,  _ god _ , just like Thor said he would. He’s pleading for more, grinding his hips down, pushing as hard as he can onto Thor’s hand.

“Gonna give you another one,” Thor says, and Peter nods and groans and bites down hard on the gag in his mouth. “C’mere,” he grunts, and grabs at Peter’s thighs, pulling him closer. He dribbles more lube onto his fingers where they’re disappearing inside Peter, and fits a third inside.

Peter sighs, sobs out in time with the rhythm of Thor’s hand.

“God,” Thor mutters, pushing against his prostate, “you feel good. Gonna have to fuck you soon.” Peter nods, tries hard to agree. “Want to feel you tight like this around my cock. Want to come in you.”

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck,  _ Peter’s saying, and Thor’s nodding like he can hear him loud and clear.

“Look at your poor cock,” Thor says, and Peter does, and it’s leaking, flushed so dark, so hard it hurts. “Bet you’re hoping I’ll take care of it.” Peter nods, reaches out to try and get his hands on Thor. He can’t. “Stay good,” he says again. “Stay good and I will.”

It’s another few long, excruciating, divine minutes that Thor fucks him open with his fingers, losing himself in the process, getting loud and greedy himself.

“Okay,” he finally says, then, and Peter calls out as Thor pulls his fingers out with no further warning. He pulls at Peter’s legs, drags him close, arranges him so that Peter’s on his side, Thor straddling one thigh and pushing the other up against Peter’s belly, spreading him wide as he slicks himself up. “Ready for me?”

Peter nods, reaches out for Thor’s hand. Thor, mercifully, offers it, threads their fingers together as he pushes into Peter in one long, slow stroke.

“Fuck,” Thor hisses, and Peter knows how to play it from here, knows he can keep Thor hot and bothered and hungry enough to give Peter anything he wants. This is when Peter usually talks him right off, can push him right over the edge with a careful word or twist of his hips.

_ Fuck me,  _ Peter begs, and Thor either understands or can’t help himself, starts driving into him without a thought.

“God, Peter,” Thor is chanting, seems all out of filth to spew, seems nearly out of authority, reduced to chasing all the feelings building inside him. “So good.”

Peter nods, reaches up with his free hand, pushes his fingers into Thor’s short-cropped hair. Thor sighs into the touch, and that’s when Peter digs his fingernails into Thor’s scalp.

Thor hisses, snaps his hips hard against Peter, and they’re getting somewhere, they really are. Peter hums encouragingly, keeps angling his hips so that Thor’s pushing his prostate with every thrust. And when he sees Thor’s eyes start rolling back, watches them flit closed, that’s when he pulls Thor’s hand down to his cock.

It’s good timing. Thor’s pushing into Peter so hard it almost hurts, but it’s  _ amazing _ , and then he finally wraps his hand around Peter’s cock, doesn’t even appear to be thinking about it as he starts jerking him off.

_ Fuck-fuck-fuck-yes-baby-please-baby— _ Peter lets himself shout everything his mouth can come up with around the gag, and Thor’s eyes snap open, and Peter catches his gaze, holds it, watches as Thor’s eyebrows dart upward in surprise and conceit.

“I’m—” Thor sputters, the rhythm of his hips faltering, though the rhythm of his hand doesn’t.

Peter nods supportively, too loud when he tries to call out,  _ Me too _ .

Then Peter lets his own eyes shut tight, loses himself and time for a long moment, unsure whether they actually come together, although he thinks so, he really thinks so. What he knows for sure is that his body lets go and he comes hard against the comforter, Thor’s hand fisting his cock furiously until it’s too much to bear, and when Peter finally opens his eyes, Thor’s slumping over him, panting, gasping.

“Oh my god,” he’s muttering. “Oh my god, oh my  _ god.” _

Peter wraps his arms around him, holds him close, as Thor weaves a hand up and around Peter’s head, pulling at the knot.

He’s rough as he pulls the gag out of Peter’s mouth, and Peter takes a few deep breaths, stretching his jaw, can hardly believe he finally has the chance to speak again.

Thor pushes up to stare down at him, and Peter’s got a thousand filthy things he could say; they’re all echoing, deafening inside his head.

Thor watches with bated breath, waits for Peter to say something.

Peter shakes his head, pulls Thor down by the back of the neck and kisses him, doesn’t let go, pushes his tongue inside and sighs into Thor’s mouth.

When Peter finally lets him go, Thor rests his forehead against Peter’s.

“This…” he breathes, whispers, “was a really good idea.”

Peter grins, and starts planning all the things to make sure he says before the next time they do it.


	12. Mistletoe

It’s Barnes, eventually, who pointedly clears his throat.

A holiday party at the facility had sounded a little ridiculous to Peter at first, but it didn’t take very long for his heart to start aching for it. It’s been so many years since he celebrated Christmas.

And it’s fun. Eggnog is  _ exactly  _ as repulsive as he’d always imagined it would be. But there’s a lot of champagne. And beer. And Fireball, a cinnamon whisky that Peter’s become  _ very _ acquainted with this evening.

There’s a stupidly oversized, trimmed Christmas tree. There’s music playing—Christmas songs Peter hasn’t heard in thirty years. There’s just about every Christmas tradition Peter can remember, albeit a lot grander than he and his mother used to manage in their little place in Missouri. There are gingerbread men and there are bows and baubles on everything and there are actual stockings hung on the mantle.

And there’s Thor.

So Peter’s helping himself to everything, pouring more whiskey into himself and getting an eyeful of all the red and green, the silver and gold. And getting an eyeful of Thor.

With every drink, he gets less preoccupied with playing it cool, goes from innocently bumping into Thor and making small talk to flat-out cornering him, monopolizing him, laughing too hard at any stupid joke he makes, and trying too hard to make him laugh.

But the funny thing is, it’s so  _ easy _ . Like Thor’s perfectly happy to be cornered and monopolized by Peter, like Thor’s not just laughing to be nice. They haven’t seen each other in quite a while. And Peter, even with the fascination and pining always sort of nestled in the back of his mind, still didn’t realize how  _ just how much _ he had missed him.

Peter’s half-aware of the time, maybe  _ hours,  _ that they pass talking only to each other, standing by the bar, and then seated by the fire, trailing after one another in pursuit of dessert or another drink (and another, and  _ another… _ ) Even so, he’s caught pretty well off-guard when he hears someone clearing their throat in that calculated way, and turns away from Thor to see Barnes and Stark and Rogers staring at them.

Peter’s instinct is to move aside, because they are lingering in a doorway after all, which Peter only realizes now is pretty rude. It was Barnes that cleared his throat, but it’s Rogers who raises the hand he’s holding his scotch in and points with one casually extended finger toward the space above them.

Peter looks up, tilts his head, looks back to Rogers. “What?” he asks, finally, not quite understanding the looks on the other three men’s faces.

Rogers rolls his eyes. “Mistletoe,” he says simply. Barnes kind of turns his body into Rogers’ and chuckles.

Peter looks up again. Hanging above them is, sure enough, a little green plant with a red bow. He tilts his head again.  _ “That’s  _ mistletoe?” he asks.

All three of them laugh at him, and Peter looks nervously to Thor, who’s got that familiar look of contented confusion on his face. “What’s mistletoe?” he asks.

“Christmas tradition,” Stark points out quickly.

“Didn’t you grow up on Earth?” Barnes asks Peter with a grin.

Peter blushes, rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but only until I was eight,” he answers. “I know what mistletoe  _ is,  _ I just… I guess I never really saw it.”

“Well,” Stark says, a really satisfied tone in his voice, “there it is.”

Peter is, fortunately, drunk enough that he’s not completely mortified by the expectant, amused grins on all their faces. “So, you know what you’re supposed to do under it, then,” Rogers says casually.

Peter blushes some more, swallows, nods. Thor, innocently, asks, “What’s that?”

“You kiss under it,” Barnes says, putting Peter out of his misery.

Peter looks to Thor to watch his reaction to this information. It’s hard to read, just a smile, but Thor smiles at just about everything.

And then, he shrugs, and puts a hand out to rest on Peter’s shoulder. “As good an excuse as any, I think,” he says softly, and leans in, and kisses him.

Peter half-registers the bona fide  _ giggles _ from three grown-ass, seasoned  _ superheroes _ . They are absolutely, without a doubt, the last concern on his mind, as he feels Thor’s lips warm against him, tastes the trace of cinnamon and peppermint on his breath.

When Thor finally pulls away and Peter has the sense to look anywhere else, Barnes and Rogers are already headed away. Stark punches him lightly on the shoulder and offers a soft, “Merry Christmas, Star-Lord,” before he turns to follow them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, y'all. I had a lot of fun with these and also stressed myself out A LOT! Your comments and kudos and likes and reblogs were my own special Christmas miracle. Happy Holidays, Happy New Year, and look out for more Thorquill fic from yours truly in 2019 <3


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